Entitled: A Bad Boy Romance (Bad Boys For Life Book 1)

by Slater, Danielle

  ***

  I make it to Devlin’s home about an hour before him and get dinner started. I clean myself up, change clothes, since I bought a lot of them, and pop a pie in the oven all before he walks through the back door. Domestic shit. Check. Sexy for my man. Check.

  “Hey,” he grins, entering the kitchen.

  I feel a little weird after my phone confession, but hopefully he’ll ignore it, forget it, never ever mention it.

  “How was your day?” I ask.

  Dropping his keys on the counter and slipping out of his shoes, he moves to embrace me.

  I fall between his arms, sinking into the warm pleasure of his body.

  “It went well,” he says, placing his jacket and tie on the counter and stepping over to peep in the oven. “Then I found out that someone is in love with me.”

  Well damn. He turns to watch my expression, and my body heats with embarrassment. My nails become intriguing as I flick them between each other. I can’t stand to see his handsome face shoot me down. Not today. Not after I had enjoyed it so much.

  “Devlin. When I said that, I—”

  He kisses away the rest of my explanation.

  His hungry mouth presses against mine like I am a four-course meal. I feel like cotton candy in the rain as his hands move everywhere, all at once it seems.

  In seconds, my clothes are on the floor next to his.

  He sprawls my legs apart, steadying me against the island counter before jamming his hard length into me in a frenzy of frantic thrusts.

  “I needed this,” he moans into my ear. “Needed you.”

  The smell of his cologne, his brawny dick filling me up from the inside, and his pumping body, push me to the edge.

  “Yes.”

  “Say it,” he mutters against my earlobe.

  I clamp onto his shoulders as we hammer against each other without restraint. Who knew life could be this good? Certainly not me.

  “Say it,” he grunts as he volleys his body against me, and I have no choice. His relentless thrusts leave me without much choice.

  Emotion builds and heightens with each movement of his swelling muscle housed inside me.

  “I love you, Devlin. I love you. Damn, I love you,” I nearly sing, all of my senses obliterated as though I had been shattered into tiny pieces and then rewound back together.

  A guttural groan rises from his throat as he pierces his hot flesh into me.

  “That’s right, come for me, baby,” he grunts, pumping impossibly harder and faster. “You feel so good. So fucking beautiful.”

  He overtakes my mouth for a wild, unruly kiss and clamps onto my waist.

  I just hold on, lost somewhere in a space of rainbow-feelings pounding through me.

  “I love you, Ayron,” he growls. “Fuck, I love you,” he groans with one last heightened push into me.

  His head falls against my exposed breast. “I swear to you that I love you,” he pants into my chest. “And I want every day to be this way. Stay with me.”

  He kisses me before moving away.

  “I’m going to get cleaned up,” he states, still sounding breathless.

  I smile. The feeling of being loved by Devlin makes me feel at the top of the world.

  I throw on my shirt and underwear on wobbly legs, wash my hands in the sink, and pull my pie out of the oven.

  I don’t know what to think or say.

  Isn’t there a saying about milks and cows, and the order in which they are bought, or the price? He has my brain all messed up.

  Devlin returns to the kitchen a few minutes later in a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, and I haven’t moved from the counter.

  He slaps my ass before kissing my cheek and heading over to the pie.

  “Get out of my pie,” I fuss playfully, snapping out of the thoughtful trance he had left me in.

  “I can’t have your pie?” he teases with that naughty smile, tasting it anyway.

  I roll my eyes at him.

  “They’ll get stuck that way,” he says, taking another bite.

  “Whatever. Do you like it?” I ask.

  “It’s all right. Your first one was sweeter.”

  “I was sadder.”

  “I know. This one is better.”

  He moves toward me, and I see uncertainty in his eyes.

  Devlin pulls a small silver object from his pocket.

  He clears his throat.

  “I know that we have a long way to go, and I’m not an easy man to love, but since you’ve become a part of my life, everything seems brighter, better.”

  He slides the silver ring onto my pinky finger, and I burst into hysterical laughter.

  The ring looks as though it came from a Florida beach gift shop. The center of it looks like a clear mood ring, but inside there is a 3-D blue-and-yellow Angelfish.

  “Stay with me. Be my Angelfish. We can become better together, grow together, take a lifetime to learn one another.”

  The tears start before my words can.

  He pulls me close to him and rocks me.

  “I need an answer, babe,” he says gently.

  Sniffling, I meet his gaze.

  “You really love a girl like me?”

  “Forever.” He motions his hand vertically and then horizontally over the left side of his chest. “Cross my heart.”

  “Yes. I’ll stay. I love you so much.”

  Chapter 22-Ayron

  Three Months Later

  The Gladys Masters Center for Employee Support, housed in the Masters in Style headquarters, had been operational for one month. Over dinner one night, Devlin and I had developed an idea to provide a daycare for employee children, classrooms for continuing education courses, and a therapist for emotional support, free of charge. I’m not sure if he asked me to help oversee the development of the project because he liked to take me as his lunch break or if he really valued my opinion—either way, it made me happy. Devlin had given me carte blanche to redesign a wing of six offices into an area to improve employee relations after he took over as president of the company.

  “Monique is here,” my new assistant Leslie rings in over the intercom. I’d caught her making moon eyes at the additional psychiatrist, Dr. Brian Jamal Stephens, I’d hired.

  I’m glad that Devlin let me add Dr. Stephens. Once I explained how much time the project would take and all of the nights I would have to work away from home to get things done, he was more than happy to sign on the money line. Devlin just makes impromptu visits and always uses an extra-manly voice when Brian is around. His jealousy is cute, but unnecessary. Brian has a thing for Monique, and Monique still hasn’t forgiven him for what he did to her in college.

  “You don’t have to announce me,” Monique huffs. She hasn’t made it into my office physically yet, but I can hear her. “Twig is my girl from way back.”

  I grimace at her use of that nickname.

  Monique enters my office and places the large, brown paper sack on my desk.

  “You need to check that new assistant of yours. Ms. Agnes knew what was up.”

  “Leslie does well,” I protest.

  “She made me wait in the lobby while she checked to see if you were available,” Mo fusses, plopping a hand on her hip.

  “The nerve of her.” I giggle.

  “So stop stalling, Twig. Take the damn test already.”

  My heart nearly freezes with fear when Monique pulls three pregnancy tests from the bag. I don’t think I need to take one. Periods can disappear, breasts can be tender, bodies can be bloated and not be pregnant.

  “Nope.” I place them all back in the bag in the same order that she had pulled them out. “My body is just playing tricks on me, that’s all.”

  Monique pulls out her cellphone.

  “Devlin. Hey. This is Monique. There is a situation with Ayron, and I kind of need your help.”

  I snatch the phone away from Monique in horror.

  “Dev. I’m sorry she called you,” I stutter into the ph
one. I wish I could really shoot darts with my eyes. I give Monique my best evil glare.

  “You all right?” he asks. “I just walked out of a meeting. You need me to come downstairs?”

  “No,” I respond, a little too eagerly. “I’m good. Monique is just being Monique. I love you.” I add those words to try and smooth the situation over, but I feel like they set off more alarms in Devlin instead.

  “I’ll see you for lunch today. Whatever it is that you’re keeping from me, I want to know then.” His voice is serious before turning sweet. “I love you, too.”

  “Real fucking great, Mo,” I chide, allowing her phone to freefall from my hand. I hope it breaks. “Now he’s coming to check on me at lunch.”

  “I don’t care about you being mad, or trying to break my phone. Your baby daddy got big bucks anyway and I’m on his good side.”

  I cringe at the word “baby daddy” because then I would be his “baby momma.” Not cool. What would be even worse is me forcing him into a marriage to avoid stupid titles.

  “I don’t even know yet if there’s a baby.”

  Monique pushes her lips to the side.

  “You know your body. You already know the answer. Quit being fucking chicken and take the test. Do I need to go get Agnes and wheel her ass in here? She’ll pop you with her cane.”

  I laugh at the thought of Agnes trying to whoop me with her cane. She is still on hospice care, but she’s still as feisty as her body allows.

  “For someone who wouldn’t let me live with her when I needed to, you sure are bossy.”

  Monique throws her hands up in the air.

  “Here we go with that again,” she sighs. “Mr. Money Bags bribed me to tell you “no.” He wanted you to stay with him. It worked, didn’t it? I bought you a killer birthday present out of guilt, and you got a fine-ass man with a lot of money. I think I deserve a thank you.”

  Monique had told me about Devlin’s plan over drinks when she returned from England.

  “Quit trying to change the subject.” She shoves a test box in my hand, just as a knock comes from the door.

  “It’s Brian. Can I come in?” he calls out from behind the closed door.

  “Hell no,” Monique whispers to me harshly.

  I smile.

  “If you talk to Brian, I’ll take the test.”

  She glares at me.

  “He’s a fine-ass man with a lot of money.” I wink.

  “And we don’t mention the whole “turning-you-away-in-a-time-of-need” thing anymore?” Monique counters.

  “Deal,” I agree, gathering the tests into the bag.

  “You can come in, Brian,” I tell him.

  Monique releases a heavy sigh.

  When Brian enters, polar opposite looks stamp the faces of my two comrades.

  He doesn’t say a word, just watches her like she is a unicorn, like she is something he thought he’d never see.

  Brian’s smile takes over his entire face, while Monique has flared her nostrils and lowered her eyes like a charging bull.

  “Brian, would you mind keeping Monique company for a few? I need to run out for five to ten minutes.” I smirk and excuse myself, shutting the door behind me.

  ***

  Every single last one of the tests say the same stupid shit: pregnant. This can’t be right. Dev and I had slipped up a couple of times, but I took my pills faithfully. Except for after the fire. I had to refill the prescription. I cancel lunch with Devlin through our assistants and head to the medical office of a friend of Brian’s for an emergency visit.

  Dr. Isaiah Graham is a handsome man with chiseled features and an athletic build, but my guy is sexier. Damn. Sex is what had gotten me into this mess in the first place. Dr. Graham decides to walk with me outside once I become a blubbering mess in his office. He had confirmed the same thing that the store bought tests had. Pregnant.

  “Do you have anyone that you can call?” he asks.

  I nod my head yes. The thought of telling Devlin about a baby frightens me. We don’t really discuss children, hadn’t discussed marriage. We are just enjoying each other, but I had promised to let him into my life, so I will have to let him know about the new life we created.

  “It’s perfectly normal to be emotional,” the doctor continues. “I would feel much better if someone drove you home.”

  The doctor hands me a tissue and pats my shoulder.

  Epilogue-Devlin

  I made it clear to everyone that if Dr. Ayron Winters calls, put everything else on hold. Her last name should be Masters, she should be my wife, but she is strong and stubborn. Getting her to marry me will be a battle, so I’m giving her time to adjust to the idea of us living us together. I still can’t get her to take money from me, and she insists on paying the water bill since she found out how much my mortgage and electricity bills run. Sharing my business with her is all a part of my master plan to ease her into being Mrs. Ayron Masters.

  I was worried when Monique called. I avoid contact with the abrasive woman as much as possible, but we have an understanding: if there’s something about Ayron, don’t hesitate to call me. I was concerned when Ayron said she loved me, out loud, outside of our home. That was new. I became worried when she canceled our lunch through Gloria. We always talk about it over the phone if our schedules conflict. I became desperate when I found she had left for the day and didn’t let me know.

  “Are you all right?” I ask, sliding my hand across my face and leaning back into my office chair.

  “No. I’m not,” she says wearily. She sounds like she has been crying. “I need you to come home.” I hear a sniffle.

  “I’ll be right there. Do you need me to stay on the phone?”

  “No, just come home.”

  ***

  I make it home in record time, unsure why I need to be there. I want to call Monique and get some insight. I have a feeling that she already knows what is going on, but obviously Ayron needs to tell me. Did Agnes die? That can’t be it. Ayron would have been hysterical. Is she having an affair? Doubt that. We have been together every minute, for the most part. I even went with her to the Rhonda Raven Show, especially once I found out Brian would be there. Damn.

  When I walk into the home, I find Ayron in the kitchen, crying over a bag of hotdog buns and a jar of Prego spaghetti sauce. Is she hungry?

  “What’s going on honey?” I ask, wrapping my arms around her.

  She sniffles and turns to face me.

  “Do you love me?” she asks.

  “With all my heart,” I answer, feeling a thump there, as I’m not sure where this train of questioning is leading.

  She sighs.

  “I wanted it to be all cute and memorable for you, and I can’t. It’s not turning out right,” she babbles, picking up the bag of hotdog buns and then placing them in the oven.

  One hundred…ninety-nine…ninety-eight…ninety-seven…I count in my head. Why can’t she just tell me what’s wrong?

  “See, I’m making you angry,” she sobs. “What am I going to do with a baby?”

  I freeze at her words. The one word that I wasn’t expecting. Baby. Then it all starts to come together, buns in the oven, Prego sauce.

  “You’re pregnant?” I gasp.

  “Yes. The doctor told me today.”

  I hug her as close to me as humanly possible and kiss her face.

  “That’s awesome,” I exclaim. “No need to cry. We got this.”

  I kiss her cheeks and mouth.

  “Why are you so upset?” I ask. “Is something wrong already? I’ll get you the best medical team.”

  This makes her smile a little.

  “No, everything looks fine so far. I just don’t want to be a baby momma. What’s the baby’s last name going to be? Where do I fit into all of this?”

  I scratch the side of my face.

  “You know that you’re my everything. You’ve given me purpose, direction, strength. You are my wife, whether we’ve signed papers yet or not. The b
aby will be a Masters, no doubt…just like you.”

  “I was so worried. That’s why Monique called you. She was trying to get me to take a test. I skipped our lunch to go to the doctor.”

  “Well, no more appointments without me.”

  She nods.

  “I want to be there for you every step of the way.”

  “Thank you,” she sighs, falling into my arms again.

  “And promise me, for baby number two, I’ll be the first to know besides you,” I tell her.

  “I promise,” she replies with a smile.

  I can’t wait for our future together.

  Thank You

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  About The Authors

  Danielle Slater

  Danielle Slater writes romance stories involving the men we hate to love, and love to hate: the bad boys. She has always been drawn to them, whether she wanted to or not, and loves to tell stories on different relationships that have a multitude of consequences for both the hero and the heroine. She hopes to become a full time writer, and currently resides in San Francisco as a secretary for a small law firm. Her goal is to entertain and move readers through her writing, and hopes you enjoy each and every story along the way.

  About Roxy Sinclaire

  Roxy Sinclaire writes steamy, suspenseful romantic stories as the main genre, and this includes a variety of different topics. Some of these include dark romances, action packed romances, mafia romances, and many more. She currently works in customer relations in New York City, but is trying to fulfill her passion in writing and eventually have her dream job become a reality.

  Also By Danielle Slater:

  Made: A Stepbrother Romance

  ___

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